


Fuck the Wavering Wood

by aralias



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: An attempt to mitigate consent issues, Aphrodisiacs, Lots of Sex, M/M, Sex Pollen, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Watford Seventh Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:06:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25210594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: The Humdrum never sends the same thing twice. This time, he sends sex pollen.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 142
Kudos: 566





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SHARKMARTINI](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHARKMARTINI/gifts), [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/gifts).



> When this fandom was rating the tropes it liked recently, a lot of people put 'sex pollen' in the bottom tier. Not everyone did, though. I mean, I clearly didn't for a start. Sharkmartini and Krisrix strongly implied they would write one together. And I thought - I could wait for that perfection. But also, I really didn't want to write my real fic, so I thought I'd write this instead. 
> 
> Please do not take this fic as a sign that the deed is done. The fandom probably needs quite a few fics before it's convinced, right? 
> 
> There's definitely a lot of this that speaks to 'Sex and Blood' because I only have a few ideas. 
> 
> This chapter is the set-up.

**SIMON**

I can tell I’ve made a mistake even before Baz opens his mouth. I feel hot and my throat’s tight – and although the horrible suck of the Humdrum is gone (which means I won), the air still seems heavy. Unreal, somehow. (Which means maybe I didn’t.)

“You idiot,” Baz says. And I can’t help noticing that he says it much more breathily than usual. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

 _Saved the day,_ I think to myself. _No thanks to you._

I don’t say it, though, because I know that’s not what he means. Also, I’m not sure I _have_ saved the day anymore. 

I shake my head. Hoping Baz is in the kind of mood where he wants to explain exactly how stupid I am (rather than the kind of mood where he withholds information just to piss me off). Fortunately it seems like he is.

“Those were fechounds,” Baz says, swallowing.

“Right,” I say. (I’m a bit distracted by Baz’s throat. The way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.) (It can't have always been this pretty.) “I guess that makes sense.”

Obviously, I don’t mean that I’ve ever heard of them. But they did look like dogs – _hounds_ – and the magickal community isn’t exactly very inventive when it comes to naming dark creatures that look like regular creatures. So, fechounds sounds right. I’m guessing it comes from how you swear when you see them – I _definitely_ did. (Two big green bastards with big black eyes, giant teeth and lolling tongues? Fucking terrifying. Although they disintegrated when I ran them through with my blade, scattering soft white stuff over both of us, so more bark than bite.)

The Humdrum’s never attacked the Wavering Wood before. But then it never does the same thing twice, so I guess I should have expected it would happen eventually. I was following Baz (as per usual) and I’d just confronted him, so I already had my sword out when we both felt the dry itch of the Humdrum. Baz barely had time to get his wand before the dog-things attacked. And he didn’t have time to use it at all before I’d taken them both out.

I thought that was odd. The Humdrum’s sent griffins and kelpies – it's sent cravens and, once, a sea serpent that tried to drown me in the Thames. Green dogs that look terrifying but basically fall apart the moment you touch them aren’t exactly up there in the monster hall of fame. I figured maybe the Humdrum was running out of ideas. But the way Baz is looking right now – vaguely horrified, his eyes full of pupil – tells me I’m wrong.

The Humdrum’s just playing a different game this time.

Baz swallows again. (And it’s – _interesting.)_ His fingers twitch at his sides.

“I think we probably have about five minutes,” he says. “Before it gets bad.” There are still little bits of white from the dogs caught in his dark hair, like snowflakes. It’s dead pretty. “What – er – do you want to do?”

I tear myself away from contemplating Baz’s hair.

“Get Penny,” I say. Because that’s always what I do when something goes wrong. It’s standard, but a good suggestion. (Penny will know what to do – or if she doesn’t, she’ll know which books we should read to find out what to do from.) But it seems to infuriate Baz for some reason.

He grabs me by the front of my shirt so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t rip.

“She’s not even your girlfriend.”

“I _know_ ,” I say. And then, because it’s Baz’s fault and I’m still annoyed with him, “I don’t _have_ a girlfriend at all, thanks to you.”

Agatha broke up with me again last week. She said it wasn’t anything to do with Baz, but I know it was. (It’s football season, which means he’s constantly wearing shorts and being good at things. It’s infuriating, but probably really hot if you’re into that.)

“Right,” Baz says. “Good.”

And then he pulls me towards him so fast that I don’t have time to stop him, or think about what’s happening, before our mouths collide.

Baz’s mouth is demanding – like the rest of him – and cold. But it feels like he’s struck a match down my body, sending a spark right down through me into my gut. His teeth clash against mine so hard it’s almost painful.

Then he pulls back just as fast, letting me go. He stumbles back, a hand over his mouth.

“Fuck. Sorry. Fuck.”

I gape at him. “What was that?”

A kiss. Obviously. But I’ve kissed Agatha before and it wasn’t anything like that. It didn’t feel like a fight I wouldn’t mind losing. It didn’t feel like I was losing my mind, or like my knees were giving out from under me. 

Also – and I probably should have listed this point first – it doesn’t make sense that Baz kissed me. Baz has never kissed me before. (Is this a plot? He’s trying to distract me whatever he was doing here by kissing me?) (If it is, it’s a weird plot. But not one I’m completely opposed to, apparently.)

“I think I’ve miscalculated,” Baz says, not looking at me. “And we don’t have five minutes.”

“What?”

I’m still way behind him on this one.

“I thought we had five minutes,” Baz repeats, but not like I’m an idiot. Like he’s struggling to think it through himself. “Before it… took effect. But I was wrong. It’s already started.”

“Oh,” I say. And then, “ _Oh_ ,” again but this time because I’ve worked out what’s going on, rather than just because I don’t know what to say. “Fechounds. Like fecund. Not – _feck._ Hound. They’re the sex plant dogs, right?”

Baz shuts his eyes, although I can’t tell if it’s at my stupidity or because he can’t bear to look at me right now.

(In my defence, it’s not like we talked about them for long in Magickal Biology. And it must have been at least three years ago, and they weren’t even really on the syllabus. I can’t really remember, but I think Gareth had heard about them from a cousin or read ahead in the textbook or something and insisted on Professor Chilblains stopping the lesson to explain. I remember Penny calling it a childish waste of time. _“It’s not as if this will ever come up in our actual lives – fechounds are really rare._ ” I’ll have to tell her later that she isn’t always right.) (Assuming I tell her anything about this, which I’m thinking I might not because it involves Baz and she wouldn’t want to hear about him.)

This explains why Baz kissed me, though. And why I kissed him back. And why I want to kiss him again, and possibly rip his trousers open so I can get a look at his thighs and whatever else he keeps in there.

(My own trousers feel uncomfortably tight – Baz’s look like they might be too. Worth investigating.)

It’s not because either of us like each other. Or would ever normally want to kiss each other. It’s because we’ve both breathed in the pollen from the fechounds and now we’re both gagging for it. We’re both desperate, and if I remember that class right (which admittedly, I might not) we will be for the next few hours. It’s just a super aphrodisiac.

I mean, _anyone_ would look hot to me right now. It’s not _Baz._ I’m not even gay. He’s just here.

And so am I.

We’re here together.

“Kill me,” Baz says as I smooth my hand over his cheekbone and into his hair – but I don’t think he means it. And for once, I definitely don’t want to kill him either.

I want to do lots of other things to him, though. A whole long, list of things.

**BAZ**

I should have run. The moment I realised what had happened, I should have turned and run deeper into the Wood. I should have chained myself to a tree and waited it out. It would have been painful, true, and I would have been cursed with the knowledge that Simon Snow would be somewhere else, trying to find someone to shag until he was sated. But at least I’d have spared us both from whatever is about to happen.

I didn’t run because he hesitated. Even once I told him what he’d done.

Because I thought, for one brief moment, that perhaps Snow _wanted_ this – me – and was willing to let it play out.

I should have realised that it was nothing of the sort. That rather than tacitly consenting to hours of pollen-induced sex, Snow just wasn’t willing to admit he had no idea what was going on. 

(Also, I think if I’d run, Snow might have chased me, possibly caught me and dragged me to the ground – and I would have enjoyed that, which would have defeated the purpose of running.)

Anyway, it’s too late now. I couldn’t run now if I wanted to and I definitely don’t want to. It’s hard not to kiss Simon Snow on a normal day. On the sort of day when he’s scowling at me, or stuffing too much food into his mouth while telling all his friends how I’m a vampire. It’s agonising not to kiss him right now. When he’s looking at me with lust-drunk eyes, when he’s touching my face. When he looks like he’s seriously considering kissing _me_ before I can do it again.

And I know it’s only because of the pollen in his lungs. I know he’s only interested at all because magic and nature and the fucking Humdrum have conspired to make him incredibly randy out in the middle of nowhere, and I’m the only other person here. I _know_ this.

But I’m in love with him, and I thought he’d never look at me like this. And it’s not like he’s the only one who breathed in the fucking pollen. It went _everywhere_. And now I’ve got a raging hard-on and I don’t think Snow would push me away right now if I tried to do something about it. The taste of him is still on my lips.

As a vampire, I’m typically immune to seasonal allergies. But this is a magic pollen. I remember it _reacts_ with magic and, for all I try to deny it, I’m a magickal creature. It’s affecting me more, I think, because of what I am.

It would be so easy to give in. Just let it happen.

But I can’t. Because I’m in love with him. I can’t bear the idea of him being forced to do this against his will. He’s the Chosen One. He shouldn’t have to dirty himself with me.

“You don’t want to do this,” I tell him as he leans in.

“Yeah. Probably not,” Snow agrees – and then he does it anyway. Presses his mouth sweetly against mine and opens his lips so I can get my tongue into him again. It’s only my second kiss, but I already know I love this. The hand that isn’t on my face grips me in the small of my back and yanks me into him so that our lower bodies collide. He’s hard too and he presses against me as my hips spasm.

Fuck, it feels good. Snow’s cock against mine.

I push him back. Away from me. (Because it’s that or push him to the floor of the forest.) (The friction would definitely be better if I had my whole weight on him – I’m really _trying_ not to think about it.)

“Sorry,” Snow gasps, but he doesn’t look sorry. He looks like he’s going to do it again.

I want him to do it again.

But I know that _he_ doesn’t want any of this. And that I have to save him.

“Hit me,” I tell him.

Snow looks appalled (which is probably good. He’s still himself enough to feel something other than mazy lust).

“Why?”

“It’s not a _sex_ thing,” I say witheringly. “I don’t get off on being hit, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

(Although to be completely honest, I’m not sure if that’s true. It’s hard to distinguish. There have been times when Snow has hurt me – not seriously – and the pain felt right. Like something good. Like the closest thing to Snow fucking me I was going to get. Or that I _thought_ I’d get.) (I’m not sure whether that’s masochism, low standards, or just self-hatred. Possibly all three.) 

“I need a distraction,” I tell him. “To stop me jumping you.”

It feels good to say it out loud, to Snow’s face. To admit I want to drag him to the floor and have my way with him. It’s something I’ve thought almost every day since I realised what I felt for him in fifth year. Although usually I distract myself with football, or violin practice, or wanking over Snow in the shower. This is the first time I’ve asked him to beat the shit out of me. But it’s an emergency.

Snow looks particularly gorgeous today. (That could be the pollen talking, but I don’t think so.) He’s loosened the collar of his shirt and rolled his sleeves up so I can see his toned forearms – the shirt is still rumpled from where I grabbed him and finally kissed him. His hair is tousled. There’s a sheen of sweat over his golden skin. And he looks – frantic. 

Like he can’t decide whether to do what I’ve asked, or whether to do something else to me. His eyes keep flickering down my body.

“ _Hit_ _me_ ,” I repeat, because otherwise I really don’t know that I can stop myself doing something at least one of us will regret.

This time he does it. I suppose Snow is relatively used to fighting on command, and fighting me. Even if he had reservations this time, it would be instinctual.

He goes for my gut. (It definitely _isn’t_ erotic.)

The air leaves my lungs as I double over. I feel slightly sick – and perhaps ten per cent less likely to stick my tongue in Snow’s mouth. That’s progress, I suppose.

“Stay back,” I bark at Snow, but he’s already in my space. Reaching for me (in a way he’s never reached for me in any other fight we’ve ever had. Like he’s sorry, even though I asked for it).

“Baz, are you OK?”

Before he can touch me, I backhand him across the face and he stumbles back.

“ _Fuck_.”

And Crowley, even the sound of the word in his mouth makes me shiver. And picture it. Simon Snow _fucking._ Me.

When I look up (to check if he’s all right, to find out if the distraction worked for him too), I see that my signet ring must have caught him on the cheekbone. I’ve cut open his skin, leaving a line of red through his freckles. It’s dripping down his face. Blood. Snow’s blood. Bright. And red. And–

I don’t even have time to think before I’m on him.

**SIMON**

Baz is licking my face. Licking my _blood_ which is on my face _._

I think I might care about that – usually, I mean. But right now, all I’m thinking is that it feels pretty good, and that Baz smells _really_ good, and that because he’s had to come close to me to get to my face, the flies of his trousers are suddenly very much in range. I reach down and manage to get them open before Baz realises what I’m doing (or what _he’s_ doing) and yanks himself back.

“Eight _snakes_.”

He’s turned away. I think it’s so I can’t see him doing his trousers back up, but when I circle him, I realise that isn't the only thing he’s trying to hide. It’s his _fangs_. He’s still panting so I can see them filling his mouth. The white tips pushing down against his lower lip.

“ _Shit_ ,” I whisper.

“I can explain––” Baz begins.

I don’t let him finish, though, because I know that whatever is going to come out of his mouth will be complete and utter bullshit (because there’s no way that Baz will ever _admit_ he’s a vampire, even when I’ve caught him literally drinking blood) (even when it was _my_ blood).

“This doesn’t change anything,” I tell him. “I already knew.”

Baz’s eyebrows rise and I can tell he doesn’t believe me. And, in a way, he’s right. Because while I _did_ already know, I think something has changed.

I’ve never imagined what Baz would _look_ like with vampire fangs.

It’s good. He looks good. (Of course, he does. He’s Baz.) He has to keep his mouth soft and open, sort of inviting – and then the fangs themselves are the opposite. Fierce. And hard. I can imagine them piercing my neck. I can also imagine liking it. A lot.

So, yeah. That’s new. I’m pretty sure I haven’t thought about getting off on Baz biting me. (At least, I don’t think I have.) Even if it’s just the pollen talking, that feels big. (Like Baz’s fucking fangs.) I’d ask Baz to do it, if I thought he’d go for it. But he didn’t seem to like what happened with my blood earlier.

And there are plenty of other things I want to do first.

“I’ll be careful,” I tell Baz as I reach again for the button at the top of his trousers. (I really want to get in his trousers.)

“This is a bad idea,” Baz whispers as I finally slide my hand in through his flies. The front of his pants is damp. “I’m your enemy. And a vampire. And a boy. You could _try_ resist––”

I shut him up by pushing my tongue into his mouth, past all his lovely teeth. Baz groans and pushes back against my hand like he did the first time I tried it. (I knew he wanted this.)

He’s probably right about resisting, I probably could. I’ve resisted mind-control before. I fought off a psi-bear in my fifth year, and a sphinx that hypnotised Penny after she got one of its riddles wrong. (Penny said her answer was correct, even if it wasn’t the one the sphinx was expecting; the sphinx said she was the one making the rules and that she was a ten-tonne magickal cat woman. It didn’t go well.)

But I don’t think Baz really wants me to resist, not really. I’ve got my hand around his cock now and I’m rubbing it through his wet boxer shorts. He’s whimpering into my mouth – and it’s one of the loveliest things I’ve ever heard. Better than the song of the sirens. Better than the music Baz plays in our room when he thinks I’ve gone out and I’m actually just sitting on the stairs.

I want him to keep doing it.

“We should at least … make some sort of oath,” he says hectically when I leave his mouth to drop kisses on his neck. “Before we do anything.” His fangs give him a bit of a lisp. (Which is weird – Baz’s elocution is normally so perfect – _and_ pretty cute.) “I could swear not to hurt you. Swear with magic.”

“Not to hurt _each other_ ,” I say, biting down on his neck while I still can. He hisses but doesn’t push me away.

“Fine. Yes.” It’s almost scary how fast he agrees – like he’s not even thinking about what he's agreeing to and would basically agree to anything. “And we won’t talk about what happened today once it’s over.”

 _That_ makes more sense – Baz having an angle, I mean. This whole oath thing is just to make sure that I don’t tell anyone he’s a vampire.

But I guess I’d agree to anything too right now, because I nod.

“All right.”

Baz pushes me backwards, away from him. He holds out a hand and I take it – even though it feels weird to be shaking hands with a bloke whose dick you’ve just been fondling … with the hand you were fondling it with. (I can’t believe I’ve just been fondling Baz’s _dick_. He hasn’t even bothered to close his trousers again this time. I guess he knows I’ll just be right back in there.)

He pulls his wand from inside his jacket.

“Is there anything you don’t want me to do to you?” I say. “Not just hurting – but stuff you don’t like.”

Baz shudders. And I realise he isn’t meeting my eyes. They’re down about an inch, off to one side. When I rub my free hand over my cheekbone, it comes back smeared with red. I must still be bleeding.

Baz is looking at my hand now. (I wipe it on my trousers, and his eyes flick back to my cheek.) He still hasn’t answered the question.

“Baz?”

“Fine,” he says again. Which means he isn’t listening. He isn’t really _agreeing._ He’s sucking on his fangs (probably thinking about where he wants to put them). The wand in his hand is trembling.

“ _Baz_ ,” I repeat, more loudly.

“Yes,” he says. But it’s not an answer to my question – he’s not even really responding to his name. He’s just saying what he thinks I want to hear.

This oath was his idea. I wouldn’t have thought of it, but now he’s said it, it feels right. That we both agree. I don’t want to do this if Baz doesn’t mean it. (Not that I want to do anything – or I wouldn’t normally. But if we _are_ going to do this, then we have to be there together.)

“ _Baz_ ,” I say again. “ ** _Concentrate_**.”

It’s not a spell – I don’t think I even mean it to be one, but I can see the magic catch in Baz’s eyes and he drags them across my face to meet mine. He looks more like himself now. Or rather – he looks scared (which isn’t like Baz at all), but like he at least knows what’s going on, and what it all means. His fangs have retracted too. (I try not to be too disappointed about that. There are lots of things I want to do to Baz’s mouth and realistically, the teeth would make most of them worse.) For a moment, I wonder if I can spell the pollen out of him completely – stop all of this from happening – and then Baz’s eyebrows come down.

“Magic makes the pollen worse,” he says, his voice very pained.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” I’m not sure I ever knew that. “Anyway. Listen – before we do this. You have to tell me. Is there anything you really don’t want to do? Or don’t want me to do to you?”

He’s himself enough that I can see him think about curling his lip. But then he just shakes his head.

“No. You can do anything you want to me.”

He’s raising his wand before I can tell him the same (that there’s nothing I can think of that I don’t want right now).

 _“ **Get well soon,**_ Snow **.** ”

“You just said magic makes it worse,” I say accusingly as heat flares in my cheek.

Baz just smirks. “Turnabout is fair play.”

He must have been right. About the magic. Because I thought I was desperate for him before, but now it’s nothing to how I feel now. That has to be the magic, unless it’s just the smug look on Baz’s face that’s undoing me. Whatever it is, I need this oath to be done, so I can start on my list. (Push my hands into Baz’s hair, push my tongue into his mouth, push my hands straight down into his boxers this time…)

Baz taps our joined hands with his wand – ** _“An Englishman’s word is his bond”_** – and I feel his magic settle there as well. Warming me all the way through.

“So, we’re doing this?” I ask.

Baz nods and I pull him towards me.


	2. Chapter 2

**BAZ**

The first time is wonderful – but probably not much to write home about in the grand scheme of romantic entanglements. (Not that I would write home about having _any_ kind of sex with Simon Snow. Or indeed with anyone. Crowley – can you imagine? My father would definitely faint.) Once it’s over, I’m not even sure if we actually _had_ sex, or if we just masturbated near each other. I’m not sure if I’m still a virgin.

Snow had his hand against my cock, but both of mine were in his hair. He pulled me back against a tree and I pressed him into it, rubbing myself feverishly against him as he did the same to me. I had to stop kissing him when I came – in my boxers, against Snow’s hand – and then I just let my head rest in the crook of his neck. A bit too close to his cross – I hissed and Snow ripped it off without stopping what he was doing. Panting and thrusting his way to his own orgasm against my thigh. I didn’t even touch him.

I am, however, very sure I’m not a virgin _now._

Snow’s turned me back against the tree and pulled my trousers down. Ironically, my hands are _still_ in his hair – though lower, now, because he’s kneeling. Snow’s hands are on my hips, pushing me back into the tree so I don’t choke him. (I wouldn’t – normally. I’d probably be too scared to move at all. But the pollen is an unknown factor. And knowing we have the oath might make me careless.)

It didn’t take long for both of us to recover. I was going to tentatively suggest another hand job – one I might actually participate in properly this time – but Snow clearly had other plans. Or, more likely, he had no plan and did it anyway. 

Someone else might have worried about what it would look like. Whether even with the excuse of the pollen (even though I’ve already promised not to bring this up later), I might find a way to use the fact that the Chosen One once sank to his knees and sucked his enemy’s cock.

Snow doesn’t think, though; he just moves.

I’m fairly sure he’s never done this before. (Why would he? He’s been with the same girl since fifth year. And I’m not even sure if he’s had sex with _her_.) (Is Snow a virgin? Not anymore, anyway.) I’m also sure that I’ve been wrong every time I’ve accused Snow of being a slow study. With the right motivation – a massive dose of magickal pollen, for example – he’s positively gifted. Not that I have anything to compare this to, but Crowley.

What’s less apparent is _why_ he’s doing it. And trying to work that out is ruining what is otherwise a perfectly wonderful blowjob from the love of my life. 

I know I’m not at my best. It doesn’t help that Snow’s mouth is exceptionally warm. And exceptionally _wet_. And that he’s sucking me about as hard as the Humdrum tried to suck my magic out earlier. But I can’t work out what he’s getting out of this. He’s not even touching himself. Although I can see a tent in his trousers that makes it clear he’d like to.

(And what the fuck is the Humdrum getting out of any of this?)

Part of my brain is trying to remember what I know about fechound-pollen. (It just makes you want to have _sex,_ doesn’t it? That’s what I remember, anyway. To get off, with the intention of reproduction.) (Mother Nature has really missed the mark on this one. Since Snow and I are both boys, and I probably couldn’t reproduce even if he wasn’t. But it also means that Snow shouldn’t be doing this. He should only be doing things that get _himself_ off.)

Part of me is wondering what Snow will think about me being a vampire once he isn’t overwhelmed by lust. And trying not to freak out about the fact that I just licked Snow’s blood off his face. (I never wanted to – I wouldn’t have done, if it hadn’t been for the pollen. But now I’m a vampire who has tasted human blood, rather than one who hasn’t. Surely it’s a slippery slope. He isn’t even wearing his cross anymore – how can he trust me not to bite him?) (I’m not going to, but Snow doesn’t know that.)

The rest of me is screaming at myself to _stop thinking._

Snow isn’t an expert, by any means. But he’s enthusiastic. He’s moaning as he bobs his head. I’m panting. Digging my nails into his skin through his hair. He’s so warm and tight and I want this to last forever.

But I also want to come. In his mouth. Down his throat. And it turns out I don’t actually have a choice. It’s all far too good and I’m far too far gone already.

I press my head back against the tree as it hits, my fingers tightening in Snow’s hair. The orgasm rushes through me like another punch. A good one. Unbearable, incredible pressure.

He holds me in place as I shudder through it and then pulls back. He looks pleased with himself.

“Eight snakes and a fucking dragon,” I breathe.

Snow grins. “Does that mean it was good?”

I sneer half-heartedly – and then push him backwards as he tries to get up.

He falls back amongst the bracken with me on top of him. I take his face between my hands and kiss him, tasting the rather disgusting residue of my own ejaculation on his tongue where before there was only Simon Snow. It doesn’t put me off at all. (Just like, I suppose, the sight of my fangs seemed not to put _Snow_ off at all. Even though they were both hideous _and_ monstrous.)

In fact, I can already feel myself getting hard again against Snow’s leg. It should be impossible, even though I’m an eighteen-year-old boy and, I admit, I’ve previously spent what felt like entire _days_ masturbating over the boy currently beneath me.

It _wasn’t_ the entire day, though – it only felt like it. There were in fact long stretches of time between orgasms. In which I’d lie there and think fruitlessly about how Snow would never love me. This would bleed into thoughts about how beautiful the pattern of moles across his shoulders was; and the smell of his magic; and the hope that because he shielded me when he went off, he might actually be secretly attracted to me – until I was worked up again to give it another go. The whole sorry cycle would usually take about twenty minutes, not _five_ minutes. 

But there’s so much magic in me at the moment. I feel like I could go for hours and still not want him any less. I think, technically, it’s supposed to diminish each time we come until it’s all finally out of systems. I just have no idea how far away that is. Hours, certainly.

(Crowley, _hours_ more of this.)

Snow is writhing deliciously beneath me and trying to get his hands between us. I push him away – because I want to be able to focus when I touch him for the first time, and I very much doubt I’ll be able to do that if he achieves his objective. He whines a bit as I sit up, straddling him. My trousers are still around my ankles, which makes it difficult to move and I probably look ridiculous, but I can work with it. I press one of his wrists to the forest floor with my knee and hold his other hand down one of mine.

“ _Baz_ —”

“I’m one orgasm ahead already,” I tell him as I reach for the button on his trousers.

“So?”

“So, you need to catch up.” My hands are trembling – I’m not sure whether that’s with lust or fear. “Otherwise the pollen will stop working on one of us, leaving the other in a sticky situation.”

“I think you just like having me at your mercy,” Snow says and I almost choke. (Obviously, he isn’t wrong. I was just finding it difficult to concentrate _before_ he said it.)

I think Snow likes it too. At any rate, he isn’t really struggling, or not to do anything worse than press himself up into my hand, anyway.

Somehow, I get the button of his trousers undone, and after that the zipper. Underneath his school trousers, Snow is wearing school-issue boxers, the grey fabric stained dark with the evidence of what we’ve already done together. It shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, probably. (I admit, I’m losing perspective, here.) I want to press my face into him, try licking a hard stripe along the hard shape I can see constrained in there.

But I’m coming down from an orgasm, which means I’m more in control of myself than I have been.

Another hand job will do it. And even _that_ is a liberty.

I’m suddenly very aware that while Snow asked me what he could do, and we swore it under oath, I didn’t extract the same promise from him.

I wet my lips. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” Snow says, without waiting to hear what I’m offering. “Definitely.”

His eyes are very wide and he lifts his hips to help as I pull at his pants with my free hand and tug them down.

My mouth waters at what I’ve exposed. A hard, wet cock – Simon Snow’s hard, wet cock – over tight balls. A thatch of tawny hair. A new mole I’ve never seen before in the crease of his thigh.

I want to kiss it. I want to slide my lips down his shaft until I’m full of him. I want to suck each of his balls into my mouth. I want to tell Snow he can grope me while I do it, if he wants to. (And then I really want him to fuck me, although there’s no lubricant here and realistically it wouldn’t be pleasant.) (Honestly, fuck reality – it’s endlessly disappointing.)

But unlike Snow I plan, I don’t just act. I wrap my hand around him – as planned – and Snow hisses prettily – far better than I could ever have imagined, let alone planned for.

I smirk at him. Because I can’t help myself. (After all, I’m holding _Simon Snow’s cock_. I’ve won. I’ve got everything I ever wanted. Or I will do, soon.)

“What is it, Snow?”

I’m expecting him to tell me it’s good. Which means I’m extremely disappointed when Snow simply says:

“ _Cold_.”

“I’ll warm up,” I say – as peevishly as I can manage given that I’m currently wanking my favourite person in the universe.

“Oh,” Snow says – and now _he_ sounds disappointed. Crowley. “I mean - I liked it.” Then, as I’m still reeling from that, “Put your other hand on me?”

He’s in no position to give orders. Fortunately, I’m in no position to deny him anything he wants, either. (It’s hard enough not to crawl up his body and shove my cock back in his mouth while he lies there. I would if he asked me to.)

So, I oblige, lifting my hand from where I’ve been holding his free hand down.

Snow – the devious bastard – seems to have been waiting for this. The moment the pressure on his wrist is gone, he lifts his shoulder up and slings the arm around my neck – dragging me down towards him into another kiss.

It’s hard and messy, and distracting enough that I barely notice Snow shifting his weight until I’m on my back under him. Still kissing him.

He lifts his hips and readjusts my hands so they’re around both of us, so that I’m _pressing_ his cock into mine, then lowers his hips again.

“Crowley,” I whimper into his mouth as he shunts himself forward, fucking himself against me.

I feel him smile. I feel another orgasm building. There’s enough come _and_ pre-come between us that he’s sliding deliciously against me and through my palms. I’m almost there again. It’s getting hard to think again. (And Snow is so hard. And damp. So fucking gorgeous.) But this wasn’t the plan.

I twist my head to the side, breaking away from his mouth. “I said, it’s not my _turn,_ Snow.”

“Yeah,” Snow says breathily. “But that was bollocks.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Stop complaining now you’re at _my_ mercy.”

“ _Snow_.”

“You’re saying you don’t want to come?”

 _Perhaps Snow gets off on control,_ I think to myself headily. That would explain why he blew me. So that I’d be putty in his hands.

I could fight it. Snow and I are always fighting. (Surely, he hasn’t _always_ been getting off on it?) He might even enjoy it. But he’s right – I’d definitely prefer to come right now. In fact, I’m not even really sure why I’m arguing with him.

What’s the worst that can happen? I come out of the pollen-haze before Snow and lose my excuse for wanting to shag him. He won’t _know_ it’s happened. I’ll lie.

“Please,” I say, hearing my voice crack a moment before Snow captures my mouth again with his.

It doesn’t take long. I actually get there before him and Snow groans as I push up, into him, spilling into the space between us. A few moments later, he follows. My school shirt must be completely ruined by now. (Though really, I doubt I could care less. I might even keep it unwashed after this is over. As a souvenir. Although even now, the thought is both repellent and sad.) (I’ll probably do it anyway.)

Snow kisses me again – even though I know he must be coming down, pulling himself temporarily free of the pollen, and he really doesn’t have to. And rolls off me. Then he reaches back and kisses me again.

It’s wonderful. I could get drunk of these kisses, if I wasn’t already high on something else.

“That was good,” he says, flopping back into the grass. 

I choose not to deny it.

Snow grins, taking my silence – correctly – as agreement.

“I wouldn’t mind if the Humdrum tried this one again,” he says. “Once it runs out of ideas. Definitely better than the Yeti. Or the cravens – Penny still can’t look at a beak without wincing.”

There’s a lot to unpack in that sentence, but I’m not going anywhere near it. Firstly, because I need the shreds of sanity I still have. And secondly, because I’ve remembered what I was trying not to think about while I had my cock in his mouth, and I probably don’t have much time to do something about it before Snow starts distracting me again. (He hasn’t exactly pulled his trousers back up, which means I can still see his cock. I can see it twitching lazily as he looks at me.) (Fuck. _Concentrate_ , Basilton.)

The Humdrum.

This is happening because of the Humdrum.

The Humdrum wants to kill Snow.

“What?” Snow says. I must be staring at him. (More than usual.) “What is it?”

**SIMON**

Baz is staring at me.

It’s probably because I said I’d be okay with us having sex again if the Humdrum made me. (I mean, we _are_ going to have sex again – I don’t know how long this fechound thing is going to go on for, but it’s definitely not over yet judging by how stupidly hot Baz still looks to me. But I also wouldn’t mind doing it again. _Another_ day. If it happened again.)

Baz probably thinks that’s weird. Or gay. (I’ve noticed the pollen is making me really gay.) But it seems pretty obvious to me that anyone in their right mind would prefer getting to shag a fit vampire over fighting a bunch of killer birds.

Maybe it’s just because Baz hasn’t fought cravens before. He doesn’t know how persistent they are. How much it fucking hurts when one of them tries to peck out your eyes and only just misses.

Maybe it’s just because shagging me isn’t as good as shagging him.

I don’t know if Baz is a virgin, but he’s “naturally gifted” at practically everything, so it’s not as if I’d be able to tell if he was. He’s letting me lead a lot – that could mean something. He could be nervous. Or it could be because he doesn’t want it as much as I do. Or it could be because he _likes_ it when someone else takes charge. When I do.

I don't think that sounds much like Baz, though. It’s much easier to imagine him tying someone up and having his way with them. Like when he held me down earlier, which was so fucking sexy I almost came on the spot. (I can’t believe I ruined it. I thought he was going to fight back.)

I’ve never had sex before. Mostly, because I never really wanted it. Not enough to try and break into the Cloisters, anyway, and Agatha wasn’t going to push for it – she doesn’t even like kissing that much (she said I was too forceful). I might be complete crap at the moment. I probably am. Although the noises Baz was making earlier make me think I can’t be _too_ bad.

He swore after I finished sucking him off. _“Eight snakes and a fucking dragon”_ – probably the worst thing I’ve ever heard come out of Baz’s posh mouth.

I’m desperate to make him say it again.

But maybe the pollen’s already worn off for Baz. He did say I shouldn’t rush him into a third orgasm. I thought we’d get more than _three,_ though.

Or maybe he’s just decided he’d rather find someone else. I guess I could understand that.

“What is it?” I repeat as he sits up.

Baz wets his lips. (I don’t think the pollen _has_ worn off for him. For a start, he’s making eye-contact with my cock, rather my eyes.) (Does that mean he’s _licking_ his lips, rather than wetting them? Is Baz Pitch thinking about sucking me off?)

He clears his throat. “I think you should tell Bunce.”

I sit up, too. “You said I shouldn’t.”

My voice sounds whiney even to me. I really don’t want to have sex with Penny, though. She’s like my sister – it’d be too weird. For both of us. Also, she has a boyfriend. And I don’t want Micah to have to come all the way from America just to thump me – it’s a waste of a plane ticket for a start.

And it’s frustrating, because I thought Baz and I had this one figured out. (It just makes sense for us to help each other, seeing as both of us are just as affected by the pollen. _It makes_ _sense._ ) I thought we’d finally found something we could work on together.

Maybe we have, though. Because Baz is blushing, rather than telling me to sod off.

It might be the first time I’m ever seen him blush. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure he could _get_ embarrassed until today.

It’s so pretty – the pink rising in his cheeks – that I almost don’t hear his answer.

“I said you shouldn’t have sex with her; you _should_ tell her about the Humdrum.” He wets his lips again. (I’m even more convinced he’s thinking about blowing me.) “Because this is probably a distraction.”

I grin. I think I like the idea of Baz finding me distracting.

“Yeah?”

“ _Snow_.”

He sounds pained again. So, I try and concentrate on what he’s saying.

“A distraction?” I repeat. Baz nods.

That makes sense, actually. The Humdrum never sends the same thing twice, but it _has_ sent lots of things at once before. Not just the same kind of thing, either, although it has also done that. The only reason three hundred and twenty-six counting sheep got in during second year was because a bunch of kip-pers had already appeared in the moat and sent everyone to sleep. It’s also why the Mage brought in the merewolves.

I’d assumed the Humdrum was just being petty - usually it’s trying to kill me, but today it’s just trying to piss me off. I figured it must’ve sat down to think (can the Humdrum think? Or sit?) and thought about all the things that drive me absolutely crazy. And that _Baz_ was right at the top of that list.

Obviously, if that _is_ the plan, it hasn’t worked. At all. I actually like Baz more than ever right now. I don’t even think I’ll be angry at him when it wears off (although I probably will be embarrassed. But I’m always embarrassed around Baz, he’s too perfect at everything. It makes me clumsy.) Baz is being what he’d probably call “jolly decent” about this. Probably better than I am. And lots better than I thought _he'd_ be. He tried to warn me it was happening. And he didn’t try to bite me even though I know he’s a vampire (and even though I wouldn’t mind if he did).

And it’s been – nice. Having sex with him. I’m _enjoying_ having sex with him. I want to be having sex with him again right now instead of having this stupid conversation about the Humdrum.

The Humdrum doesn’t usually fuck up this badly. If it wanted to annoy me, I’d probably be furious. Things would probably be on fire.

That means that Baz is probably right and it’s a distraction and a trap and I _should_ tell Penny. Because I don’t think I’m going to be in any condition to fight anything that isn’t Baz for the next few hours. (And by fight, I really just mean rolling around on the floor and trying to get on top of him. Not a recognised form of combat.)

I like that Baz thought of this. _And_ that he told me about it when we still had a chance to do something about it. It’s unexpected. Not that I think Baz _wants_ the Humdrum to win, but he’s never helped me before. And he _has_ hindered me.

For a moment, I imagine what it would be like if Baz kept helping me after this. If he helped me fight the Humdrum all the time. It'd work well, I think. Baz is faster than me – and probably as smart as Penny. It might change things. We might win more often, instead of just most of the time. 

I've thought about this before. A few times, actually. But it's pointless, so I try not to. Because it’s not going to happen, is it? I know Baz is only helping me now because he doesn’t have a choice. That’s also why he’s having sex with me, not because he wants to.

Right now, that’s good, though. Not that he doesn’t have a choice – that’s obviously bad; it’s good that he has to have sex with me.

Fuck. I _mean_ , it’s good that he has to help. Because I don’t think I _can_ contact Penny right now. It’s not just that I’d rather be doing things to Baz than casting magic in front of him, although I definitely would. I actually _can’t_.

“You’ll have to do it,” I say to Baz. “Send a bird to Penelope.”

He shakes his head, a little too vigorously. Like he’s drunk.

“Bunce would never believe a warning that came from me.”

“She might,” I say, although I actually think he’s got a point. Penny doesn’t always take my ranting about Baz seriously, but she’d see through this one in a heartbeat. Rather than keep arguing, I just tell him the truth. 

“Anyway – I, er, don’t have my wand.”

I’m expecting him to mock me – Penny would have. Instead he just sighs and pulls his wand out of his jacket. Then _pushes_ it into my hand.

“ _Quickly_ , Snow. Because, if you don’t start touching me again soon, I won’t be liable for my behaviour.”

 _That_ sounds far more interesting than alerting Penny. (Baz’s threats are always interesting, and this is probably my favourite one.) I want to touch him to put him out of his misery. And I want to _not_ touch him, to see what he’ll do if I don’t.

But I do also have a duty to the World of Mages and - for some reason - Baz is trusting me to carry it out. I’ve rarely been so unhappy about doing my duty before, though. And I’ve had to crawl through a sewer to negotiate with giant rats.

Baz’s wand is cool and smooth, like his skin. Even the leather handle is cool, although it warms up in my hand as I hold it. It’s elegant, like he is. As beautiful as he is, too.

Even though we’ve shared the same room for years, I’ve never touched Baz’s wand. It feels almost as intimate as touching his cock. And I _know_ Baz thinks so too because he’s watching me with this sort of sexy, hooded gaze and biting his lip – he was untying his shoelaces, but he’s stopped now. Like he’s on pause. Waiting.

I wonder what he’d do if I put it in my mouth.

Merlin, I can’t look at him.

Not while I’m casting a spell to call Penny. It feels wrong.

I pull my trousers up and zip them up over my erection. (That feels wrong, too. Getting dressed instead of the opposite.) Then I stand and walk a bit away from Baz. I’m not great at this spell, but I’m not terrible either. The Mage uses it all the time and he expects answers to be sent back – _promptly_ – the same way.

I cast **Come home to roost** to call a starling down from the trees to perch on my hand. Then, the tricky bit.

I clear my throat and concentrate on _Penny,_ rather than on Baz and what I want to do to him right now. I speak clearly. ** _“A little bird told me the Humdrum might attack soon and I might not be there.”_**

The starling chitters and flies off. That’s done then. I breathe a sigh of relief and turn back to Baz.

Fuck _me_.

He’s managed to take his shoes off – and his trousers and pants, too. (And his socks – Baz isn’t the kind of man to leave his socks on.) But that isn’t what’s making me stare, even though it _does_ mean that I can see a lot more of his thighs than I could earlier.

I’m staring because Baz has got one of his hands in his lap. And he’s – _moving_ it. Rhythmically. Up and down his own cock. He’s rough with himself.

I swallow. “Merlin, Baz—”

My voice sounds like I’m choking. I think I might be. (For some reason, Baz touching _himself_ is even sexier than him touching me.) (Or – almost as sexy. I can’t work out which it is, but I don’t think it matters.) 

His ears go pink, but he doesn’t stop. (Good. I don’t want him to stop.) “I _said_ you should hurry.”

“I did hurry.”

I can’t look away from it - the pink head of Baz’s cock appearing and disappearing under his hand as he viciously jerks himself off.

I kneel next to him, still holding his wand. I’m not sure yet whether I’m going to try and cut in – or just let him finish while I rub one out of my own at the sight of him. Both sound good, right now.

“What are you thinking about?” I say before I can stop myself.

It’s an invasive question – and I half expect Baz not to answer (I’m not sure I _want_ him to answer if it’s Agatha) – but he must be too far gone to be offended or lie. 

“You,” he says.

As he says it, I realise it’s exactly what I hoped he’d say. He’s thinking of me. I'm relieved. I hadn’t realised how much I wanted him to say that.

I grin. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Baz says hoarsely. “You. Fucking me.”

My mouth drops open.

I’m trying to remind myself it’s just the pollen. He probably thinks about Agatha when he does this usually.

But now _I’m_ picturing it. What Baz must be thinking about right now. Baz laid out underneath me, his legs spread. Baz whimpering as I pound into him. His mouth filling with teeth as he loses control. (Merlin. Would he bite me while I fucked him?) (Would he bite me while _he_ fucked _me_?)

“It’s the pollen,” Baz says breathlessly.

“Yeah,” I say because I know. It’s the pollen for me too.

Baz’s fist is still moving furiously on his cock. He looks desperate to come (it’s a good look on him). He looks desperate for me to do something to help him come. And I think he’s making it pretty clear what that something is.

“You want me to fuck you?” I ask, more because I want to say it than because I have any doubts at this point.

“Crowley, yes,” Baz says. “Yes.”

He sounds like he's imagining urging me on. Into him. So, I don’t hold back.

I push forward, crashing my lips into Baz’s as I scrabble at my trousers.

He groans into my mouth. (I think he’s just come. I look down and – yeah. My hand’s covered in spunk. I lick it off and Baz shudders.) “Not _now_ , Snow.”

I ignore that and kiss him again – it’s not as if it’s going to take him long to recover – pulling him into my lap, right up against my cock. I love Baz with no trousers – he’s all legs. (And arse. And what’s between his legs.) (There’s basically nothing bad under Baz’s trousers.) I run my hand up through the soft hairs on his thighs and he tilts his head back, shuddering again as I nuzzle his throat.

“Yes, now,” I tell him.

I’m not sure he’ll want it later. And anyway _, I_ really want it now. Now I know that he wants it now. (He’s definitely recovering. I can feel his cock twitching against me.)

“We need lubricant,” Baz pants, bucking into me as my hand reaches his arse. I slide my fingers into his crack. “And condoms …”

“I have some. In our room.”

“ _Our room_ ,” Baz says, “is nearly fifteen minutes away. And we’d have to stop every _five_ minutes—”

But he’s forgotten I still have his wand.

And yeah, teleportation spells are hard at the best of times. You have to really want to go wherever you want to go. But fortunately, I _really_ want to be in our room right now.

We reappear at the foot of Mummers House.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Baz swears as my arse hits the cold, smooth stone of the courtyard and I almost drop him. “ _Snow_.”

He sounds pissed off – which I guess I can understand. I _probably_ should have let him put his trousers back on before I brought us here. 

I’m expecting him to yell at me about it – the trousers thing (although no one’s around – it’s the middle of the day but we've also been lucky) – or to point out that magic makes the pollen worse and I’ve just cast a lot of it on both of us. But what he actually says is:

“You couldn’t have put us at the _top_ of the tower?”

That makes me think he isn’t that pissed off. Not pissed off enough that he doesn’t want to be in our room so I can fuck him, anyway. He pushes me off him so he can stand (he doesn’t help me - I have to get up on my own). I notice his school shirt is long enough that it covers his arse. Unfortunately.

“It’s warded,” I point out.

“I know it’s warded,” Baz snarls (not like earlier though. Still no teeth). “But you’re supposed to be the Chosen One.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swears again feelingly as he glances at the stairs. All four flights. Presumably we’ll have to stop for a quickie on the second floor. (And maybe the third.) (And the first.)

Baz shakes his head in disgust. “All right. Give me my wand back.”

I do – and Baz pulls me towards him, and points his wand skywards. **_“On love’s light wings!”_**

I’ve never even heard this spell. I grab at his shoulders as our feet leave the ground, although it’s obvious Baz has me. He’s so strong. The muscles in his arm flex around my waist. And I feel almost giddy with how much I want him.

It’s the magic – making the pollen stronger, of course. But it doesn’t feel like it.

It feels like Baz is perfect. And I’m on fire with how strong and capable and gorgeous he is, utterly in love with it.

Our window’s open (obviously. I left it open myself when I went out earlier to stalk Baz). I climb through it and pull Baz in after me. He pushes me to the floor immediately.

“That was so hot,” I tell him in between kisses. “You’re so hot.”

And I know we came here to fuck properly, but right now I think I’m too stupid with lust to do it. And I don’t think Baz can wait, either. I just pull his arse (Christ, his arse is hard) down and thrust up into him, like we’re back in the Wood, and pant into his mouth.

“So fucking hot.”

**BAZ**

It feels strange to be back in our room. Strange and relieving (and not only because I expect I’ll be picking leaves out of my hair for weeks).

While we were outside everything felt unreal. Like a Midsummer Night’s Dream. Like something that both of us could forget with enough time. I even cast a ridiculously difficult Shakespearean love spell to get us into the tower. (I’m praying Snow doesn’t know what it was) (he probably doesn't - he didn’t say anything, anyway). That it worked at all felt like fantasy.

Our room is _real_ , though. Snow and I have slept in this room for almost seven years, we’ve done homework here – and now we’ve rutted against each other on the floor between our beds because neither of us could wait to take the rest of our clothes off.

Crowley, I don’t know how I’m going to go back to my normal life. The life where Simon Snow doesn’t tell me how hot I am while clutching my bare arse in his hands and trying to get himself off.

That’s a problem for tomorrow, though. Right now, he’s still looking at me like he wants nothing more than to throw me to the bed and have his way with me. And the best part is that right now, I think that’s true. I think that’s exactly what he wants. He wants to ravage me. He spelled us here so that he could.

If the Humdrum has a face, I’d consider kissing it for making this happen - but only after I’m done with Snow.

He - Snow - allowed me to get up so I could take my jacket, shirt and tie off. But as soon as I’d thrown them all in the corner (not in the laundry – I still have plans for that shirt) he was back on me. Running his hands over my stomach and up over my nipples as he kissed me. I had to remind him that he’d promised to produce both lubricant _and_ condoms before he’d let me go, and I don’t think either of us really wanted him to.

I took the chance to spell myself clean (it’s far, far too late to worry about the consequences of more magic) while he rummaged in his wardrobe. I’d spread myself out on my bed invitingly by the time he turned around and the look on his face—

Well. Let’s just say, I’m sure I’ll be returning to the memory in lonelier nights. Repeatedly.

But I don’t need to remember or imagine at this precise moment, because Snow is kneeling next me on my bed. Between my legs. Watching me as I slide two of my own slick fingers into my arse.

He’s naked too, the first time I’ve seen him in all his glory. (And it _is_ glorious. In the original sense of the word. Snow looks like an angel. Flecked with dark-gold and haloed in the afternoon light.) (An angel with an absolutely massive erection, which is about to be shoved vigorously into my body until I ascend. All my sins forgiven. It’s definitely a religious experience.)

If I wasn’t already lying down, I’d probably collapse with lust. As it is, it’s a close thing.

I’m fingering myself, waiting for the Chosen One to finish battle with the box of condoms. (Not his finest hour, perhaps, but I'm sick enough that I find it intensely arousing.) I can’t help noticing that the box was _unopened_ before today - whoever he bought it for, they never got ‘round to using it together. I also can’t help but notice that the reason Snow is making a meal of opening the box is at least partly because he can’t stop watching me. Fucking myself on my fingers. Getting myself ready for him.

“I don’t even need this,” he grumbles as he finally gets the box open and starts trying to get into one of the packets with equal non-success. “You can’t get pregnant, and I know I don’t have any diseases. I’m a virgin.”

“You’re not _,_ ” I tell him. I’m laughing – remembering Snow’s lips on my cock earlier, and how recently we were grinding against each other on the floor. I’m laughing hard enough that I have to pull my fingers out of myself. He grins back at me as I spell my hand clean and take the condom from him.

“I guess you’re right.” He watches me intensely as I roll the slippery latex down his erection. (Fuck me, this is erotic.) “Are you— I mean. _Were_ you a virgin? Before today.”

“Yes,” I tell him.

Not because I have to, or because I owe him because he's already confessed to me, although I'm glad he did. Just because I want to. I want him to know that he’s my first. And then – because I can pass it off as the pollen’s influence, and I want to say it – I tell him the truth.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to do this with.”

I see him smile before he leans forward and kisses me again. The kind of sweet, open, artless kiss I’d expect if we were really lovers, rather than just two boys who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I shut my eyes, revelling in it.

Then I feel his hand on my thigh, pushing my legs wider, and the blunt head of his cock against my taint. And then lower, against my hole.

And then Simon Snow is pushing into me and I have to drop my head back, away from his lips, to draw breath.

It’s good. The feeling of fullness and pressure. The feeling of Snow on me and in me, his weight pressing down on my cock as his own splits me open from the inside. I’ve used toys before, of course, but it was nothing like this. I never felt like I couldn’t breathe for joy. He picks up speed.

“Good,” I whisper. I’ve got both my hands on his arse, encouraging him in (although I really don’t think that’s necessary – he isn’t going anywhere). “That’s so good, Snow.”

“Yeah?” 

He sounds breathless already. He’s pressing kisses against my collarbone, his breath hot against my skin. He’s pushing my legs up higher so he can get in deeper. His balls are smacking against my buttocks. The bed I’ve slept in for the last seven years squeaks with each new thrust, and I don’t trust myself to respond so I just grip him more tightly and nod desperately.

It’s over too quickly. Again. A significant downside to being overwhelmed with lust. (Although frankly, I’m not sure what _would_ feel like long enough. Thirty minutes? An hour?) Snow sets a desperate pace and I don’t ask him to slow down. I just ride the crest of my orgasm and spill into his hand mere seconds after I feel him come inside _me._

“ _Merlin_ ,” Snow gasps as he pulls out and promptly collapses on top of me.

He doesn’t give me time to respond (I don’t know what I would have said) (apart from _“Yes”._ Or possibly _“I’m in love with you”_ , although I think that might be stretching the pollen story too far) before he’s kissing me again. Pressing my head back into the pillow with his enthusiasm, and then moving down over my chin and down my neck. Leaving kisses in his wake.

“Was it what you imagined?” he asks breathlessly as he reaches my chest.

I try and roll my eyes. It’s a poor effort.

“Don’t fish for complements, Snow.”

He laughs and I feel the warm huff of it against my skin. “You said it was good earlier. I think I can get you to say it again.”

I know he can.

For now, though, I push him off me. Lightly enough, but Snow’s too close to the edge of the bed. He slips off onto the floor with a thump and a Normal swear word.

I lean over the side of the bed; Snow props himself up on his elbows, looking back at me balefully.

" _Baz_."

"I didn’t mean for that to happen."

“That’s what you said about the stairs.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to push you down the stairs, either,” I say – because he looks somehow even more debauched laid out on the floor, his hair mussed, and I don’t have the energy to lie. He’s too beautiful.

That surprises him, I think. (The thing about the stairs; not how beautiful he is. I haven’t told him how beautiful he is.) But not as much as when I climb off the bed and straddle his chest.

Perhaps he thought that now we were in a room with a bed (two beds) we’d confine our activity there. Or maybe he’s so ridiculously heterosexual that he’s only ever imagined fucking in the missionary position. But I want him where he is. The next wave of the pollen is already hitting me and I’m feeling bold after what just happened.

Reaching behind me, I pull off the used condom (disgusting) and open a new packet with my teeth. “Again?”

Snow’s mouth is open – but he nods vigorously. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“Right answer.”

When I reach behind myself again to put the new condom on him, he’s already hard. His cock already leaking. I slide my arse forward along his chest, dragging my cock through the light dusting of hair there, leaving a trail of lube and whatever other bodily fluids are leaking out of me across his skin as I pull back before he can grab me. It feels fucking incredible.

But not nearly as good as when I push myself up on my knees, line Snow up, and sink down. Down onto Snow’s cock until I’ve taken him all in. Until there’s no gap between us, just Snow’s hard flesh filling every inch of the space I have inside me.

Snow and I swear at the same time. He lifts his hips, and I rock mine.

“ _Baz_ ,” he says and he sounds broken. He sounds like I feel whenever I look at him. 

I let myself smile. “ _Good,_ Snow _?”_

“Fishing for compliments?”

He’s laughing, breathless. I squeeze around him and the laugh chokes off into a whimper.

“ _Christ_.”

That’s more like it. I know he only swears like a Normal when he’s really on the edge. I squeeze him again to try and push him over it.

“More,” he gasps. “Harder.”

His hands try to close around my cock, but I push them off because I don’t want to come too early this time. Snow tries to fight me, but I’m stronger than him, and I don’t let him. I put his hands on my hips instead, letting him support me as I fuck myself feverishly on him. Then he runs his left hand all the way up my body to my mouth. I let him push two fingers between my lips – and then I suck on them hard. Enough to make him hiss my name again.

“Fuck, _Baz_.”

The weight in my mouth reminds me that I still haven’t blown him. I still haven’t taken this beautiful cock I’m riding into my mouth. (Next time.) I suck harder on his fingers, biting down (lightly – I won’t hurt him) and Snow whimpers.

“I’m going to—” he gasps. “Fuck—”

He must be about to come. There’s no doubt in my mind that’s what he’s saying, so I wrap my hand around myself almost without thinking about it so that I can be there with him too.

But I’m wrong. And I realise that I’m wrong as he frowns and begins speaking more slowly. **_“In justice. In courage.”_**

I feel it rising around us as he speaks. A wash of warmth and smoke. Snow’s magic.

 ** _“In defence of the weak,”_** Snow intones, and he seems to glow. His edges shimmer. If I’d ever had any doubts about who I was fucking (never – I always knew; I always wanted it), I’d know now. The Chosen One. The Power of Powers. The Mage’s Heir. Utterly glorious.

“ ** _In the face of the mighty. Through magic and wisdom and good,”_ **Simon finishes and the Sword of Mages drops into his free hand.

I remember telling him earlier to kill me - I didn't think he'd take it literally.

I suppose, if I have to die least it’s like this.

Making love to Simon Snow. Giving us both as much pleasure as I can with my body. I’ll have his cock in me at the same time as his blade pierces my heart. It’s poetic. Or ridiculous. Maybe I’m just too aroused to care.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter.

“Go on,” I tell him. My voice cracks. “Do it.”

And then he turns the sword on _himself_.

**SIMON**

If fucking Baz is one of the most incredible things I’ve ever done, it’s nothing to having Baz fuck himself _on_ me. It’s just like I imagined. Baz having his way with me. Using me to get himself off. It makes me wonder again what being fucked _by_ him would be like, although I can’t think about that at the moment because I have to think about what’s happening now.

Baz.

Over me.

On me.

He’s so stupidly gorgeous like this, every muscle tense. And that _smirk._ Merlin. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me and he likes it. His hair’s falling over his face. His thighs bracketing me. And he’s jerking himself off now as he bounces on my cock. All the tight heat and the friction and the sight of him looming above me – I can hardly believe I haven’t already come. 

The only problem is the fangs. Or rather, the lack of them. I put half my hand in his mouth and – nothing. It makes me feel like Baz is holding back. Not _really_ enjoying it. And I want him to enjoy this. I want him to be overwhelmed with it. To swear like he did when I sucked him off.

And, if I’m honest, I also just want to see the fangs again.

That’s why I’ve just done something really stupid. Why I’ve sliced my palm open while a vampire is sitting in my lap. In the throes of passion. Much less able to control himself than usual. It’s so stupid even I know it’s stupid - I don’t even need to imagine Penny telling me it is.

But it’s also fucking hot when Baz _moans_ as the blood starts trickling down my arm. Like he’s the one who’s been cut. So I'm not exactly regretting my choices yet. 

“ _Simon_.”

(He makes my name sound like a swear word. Like it’s worse than anything he’s said so far.)

He’s stopped moving. His eyes follow my hand closely as I bring it back up to his face. And yeah – there they are. Baz’s fangs. Filling his mouth. Sharp and white and _massive._ My hips twitch upwards, involuntarily, into Baz.

“What are you doing?” he whispers, even though it’s obvious what I’m doing. And Baz is smart – I’m sure he’s figured it out. “Do you … _want_ me to bite you?”

I try not to look too keen. (I know he won’t.)

“Would you?”

“ _No_.”

Like I thought. The Anathema and the oath we took earlier wouldn’t let him, even if he wanted to. Also, I don’t think I want to _be_ a vampire – I probably just find them hot. Right now, I mean. 

“Then don’t,” I tell him, lifting my arm higher. “Just lick me. Like you did earlier.”

Baz tries to shake his head but he’s still watching my hand. “It’s ... really not safe.”

“You didn’t bite me before,” I point out. 

It's true. Not even after he tasted my blood. And that was before the oath, _and_ we weren’t even in our room. Whatever Baz says, I actually feel completely safe right now. I know he won't hurt me. 

Baz is shuddering - I can feel it right down through my cock.

“Please,” I say. “I want you to have it.”

“Crowley, you’re insane,” Baz whispers. But he’s got both his hands around my bloody one now, drawing it closer towards his lips.

I feel his tongue drag over my cut skin. I hear him moan again (that’s good – he must like it) and then he’s sucking harder.

It’s clear Baz is busy, so I drop the Sword of Mages and wrap my free hand around his cock. Now I’m the one setting the pace again, fucking up into Baz and jerking him off as he whimpers into my hand.

“That’s it,” I tell him. “Come on, Baz.”

His head drops back, lips open, and I finally see them all – every sharp fang. It’s so hot I feel like I’m dying. Like I’m going off. But it’s just my orgasm thundering through me.

My hands clench – one around Baz’s cock, the other in between his hands – and my back arches. I hear myself swearing; I hear _Baz_ swearing. I want to look at him, but it’s too overwhelming. My eyes are squeezed shut.

When I open them again, Baz’s chest is heaving. I think he’s come as well. I peer down. And well – the evidence is actually all over me. (Which for some reason I _also_ find hot. Baz’s spunk, all over my chest. Like he’s marked me.) 

“Never do that again,” he says harshly as he climbs off me.

He’s still got his fangs, but they disappear after he spells my hand better and the blood’s gone. After that he kisses me – bruisingly hard. So hard that when he leaves me to crawl down my body, I’m breathless.

“You had it under control."

He bites me for that – just a bit. Over my nipple.

“You shouldn’t presume— It’s _incredibly_ dangerous.”

What I’m hearing is that Baz really doesn’t want to bite people. He’s probably never done it before. And I've wasted my time tracking him through the catacombs.

“What if I like danger?” I say. (It sounded sexier in my head.)

Baz smiles as pulls the used condom off me and throws it in the bin. A softer smile than before. Sweeter. He pushes his hair back out of his face.

I have to stop myself adding that I like _him._ That I liked making him happy. It seems like that might confuse things after all this is over.

“Frankly, it would explain a lot,” he says, still smiling.

I grin back as he ducks his head down towards my crotch. My breath catches as his lips hit the crease of my hip. Soft. And light. Almost as though he means it.

He looks up at me then, his hands bracketing my thighs. He seems almost nervous. Like what I just did with the blood made him vulnerable.

I’m not sure if I should say sorry.

I’m not sure if I should _be_ sorry.

Baz did _say_ I could do anything to him, but – to be fair – he probably didn’t think I would try and feed him my blood. It’s hard to be sorry though when I think about how blissed out he looked just before we both came (me in him; him _on_ me). And it’s really hard to be sorry when Baz clears his throat and says:

“Can I … suck you off?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly. “I mean. Unless—” Baz arches an eyebrow and now it’s my turn to blush. “I just—” Merlin, I’m making a mess of this. I just need to say it. “I’d like you to fuck me. If you want to.”

Baz opens his mouth and then shuts it again. Swallows. I think he’s speechless.

“Do you want to?” I prompt.

“Have you … done anything like _that_ before?”

“You know I haven’t”

“I mean, on your own.”

“Why would I?”

It’s not like I’ve actually been fantasising about Baz fucking me for years; it just feels like it.

“Right.” Baz swallows again (it's still dead distracting when he does that) and reaches under his own bed. I’ve never looked under his bed - Baz must have cast **Nothing to see here** on whatever’s under there because I would _definitely_ have looked if I’d thought of it. That means I have no idea what he’s searching for.

It’s a box. Plastic. Full of … _things_. I can’t see what they are from here. Baz hunts through it and pulls out something that I’m fairly sure is a butt plug, even though I’ve never seen one. (Why does _Baz_ have a butt plug?) (I mean, I suppose I can guess.) He shuts the box before I can see what else is inside. (Although I think I can probably guess this one, as well.) 

“You need to get used to … having something inside you,” Baz says – he’s trying not to sound too interested, but I can see he likes the idea of it. His cock is twitching between his legs. “If you let me suck you off now, I’ll put this in you. Then, if you like it, we can…” 

“Yeah,” I interrupt. “Okay.”

I just want him to get on with it. There’s always a break after an orgasm when you can think about something else, but it’s passing quickly, and I want him.

“Okay,” Baz says. He sounds relieved and I know the pollen’s getting to him too.

I watch as he rubs lube all over the toy. And I think about how he didn’t need to get used to anything before I slid my cock into him. Then he brings it down between my legs and runs it across my hole.

 _This has definitely been inside Baz before,_ I think as he pushes the toy into me. And if I’m honest, it’s probably that thought as much as the sensation of being filled that makes me groan and twitch. Then Baz’s mouth is on me, swallowing me down, and I shut my eyes because of how _good_ it feels.

It must feel good to Baz too because he moans like he did when I cut myself. Like this is one of the best things that’s ever happened to him.

I bury my hands in his silky hair again, keeping it out of his face while he works. It still feels like something I’ve wanted to do before – touch Baz’s hair. Touch _Baz._ Not just today, for years.

I’d say that’s just the pollen – that it’s just the pollen making me want to be soft with Baz, just like the pollen made me want to suck his cock. And offer him my blood because I liked his fangs and I wanted him to really enjoy himself while I fucked him.

But I thought the pollen was making Baz gay, too. And apparently, he’s got a whole box of toys he likes to bugger himself with while I’m out. (I know that doesn’t mean he _is_ gay, but it is less likely that he _isn’t._ )

And if Baz is gay, then … I don’t know what that means. For me. Whether it means that I’m gay too.

Whether it means that Baz meant it when he said he’d never wanted to do this with anyone else. When he said he imagined me when he brought himself off.

Whether it means that this, all of this – what I felt when Baz carried me in through the window, what I felt when he smiled at me just now – is real.

And all the pollen is doing is forcing us both to do something about it.

I think Baz is jerking himself off while he sucks me. (As well as the moaning, I can hear a wet sound that doesn’t sound like it’s coming from his mouth on my cock.) And I want to look at him, watch him doing it. And I don’t know if that’s because I’m gay, or because I’m gay _and_ I fancy Baz, or just because we’re both still full of pollen, like I thought earlier.

Eventually, I decide it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I want to look _now_. And that Baz won’t mind if I do.

I open my eyes. And then I immediately shield them again.

“ _Fuck_.”

Baz looks up inquisitively at the sound of me swearing – and I see him see it, too. A small black bird. It must have flown in through the window.

He pulls off me, his lips wet and shiny. “What the _hell_?”

Obviously, my first thought is that it’s the Humdrum. Cravens, again. (The air does feel a bit thin, now I think about it. A bit scratchy.) But then the bird lands on my chest and chitters harmlessly. And I realise it’s carrying a note in Penelope’s handwriting.

“It’s all right,” I tell Baz, relieved. (He can get back to sucking me, then. That’s good.) “It’s just Penelope.”

I read the note quickly. It’s written hastily, like Penny was running while she wrote it. It’s short, but to the point. And it means we have more to worry about right now than whether or not I’m actually gay.

I hand it to Baz. Watch his face darken as he scans the same words I’ve just read: _You were right, Simon. The Humdrum’s sent manticores. Get here soon! _

“Eight snakes and a fucking dragon,” Baz says feelingly.

It’s not nearly as satisfying as I remember.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about a bit of plot in your porn? Just a bit. 
> 
> Manticores repel magic in the Potterverse - I don't know if that's a widely acknowledged 'fact', but I used it here. 
> 
> Sorry Penny - you're literally just here for exposition. You deserved better.

**BAZ**

I always knew it couldn’t last forever. I knew it would have to end.

I didn’t think it would end like this, though.

I suppose that’s it – I didn’t _think._ I didn’t follow my own thought process to this entirely logical conclusion. I’ve never hated being right more than I do right now.

Snow allowed me to finish sucking him off (it’s not as though he had much choice; the two of us _are_ still infected with the bloody pollen) but rather than just making pleased noises while I did it, he kept trying to come up with ideas for how we could recover more quickly. In _between_ pleased noises.

Abstinence was the worst. Longer and longer periods of denial. I think his theory was that he might eventually manage to get up to ten minutes, which _might_ be enough to take out a manticore. (I proved how unlikely it was that we’d be able to manage it by pulling my mouth away from him; and he crammed me back down as soon as I arched one eyebrow at him.) 

After abstinence, he suggested taking a cold shower; hay-fever drugs _(“it’s magickal pollen,”_ I mumbled around his cock _, “not a dust allergy”_ ) (Snow audibly enjoyed that one); and thinking about unattractive people naked.

 _“Or we could try hitting each other again,”_ he said once he’d come down my throat, I’d swallowed and pulled the toy out of him, and let him finish me off with his hands.

We were lying side by side on the floor again, not touching. Trying to make the most of the lucid interval between orgasms. Snow, presumably practicing abstinence; me, concentrating on _not_ asking Snow whether he still wanted me to fuck him because the moment had _definitely_ passed.

 _“That didn’t work last time,”_ I pointed out.

 _“Only because you cut me,”_ Snow said, reminding me of the taste of him on my tongue. The incredible feeling of fullness and contentment that came from his blood running down my throat. The look on his face as he told me he wanted to have it. (He’d offer it to me again, if I asked. He’d let me bite him.)

I had to actually get up off the floor to stop myself jumping him. 

“ _What we_ need _is more information about how the pollen works,"_ I said without looking at him. _"But I don’t have any books about magickal creatures up here.”_

I was half afraid that Snow would suggest teleporting us to the library, and I’d have to argue about how it wasn’t a good idea to have sex between the stacks. (It’s a persistent fantasy, but not _actually_ a good idea.) But what he actually said was that he did. Have a book on fechounds.

 _“Fourth year Magickal Biology textbook,”_ he said triumphantly, pulling it from the shelf above his desk.

I don’t think he was too surprised when I kissed him. Or when I pushed him back against the desk and ground our hips together until we'd both come, gasping into each other's mouths. 

It felt like a moment to celebrate. 

But now I’m flicking through the book (I’m sitting in Snow’s desk chair; he’s sitting on my lap) and it’s obvious this isn’t the answer. This is a basic magickal text. A _very_ basic magickal text. Intended for children, not actual practitioners trying to fight dark creatures. The section on fechounds is half a page. Most of which is a picture _of_ a fechound – and we’ve already seen two. We already know what they look like.

Snow is sucking on my neck – which isn’t helpful, but I haven’t told him that because it feels incredible. I bounce my knees to jostle him against me. His cock slides against mine and we both groan.

“Found anything yet?” he asks. He sounds desperate, probably on the brink of coming.

I shake my head. “I think we need another book.”

But Snow isn’t willing to accept defeat. (I love that about him.)

“Let me look.”

I let him take the book from me. Not because I think he’ll magically find a solution I haven’t. (It’s more likely he’ll find _another_ picture.) But it means I can concentrate on pulling him forward. Closing the gap between my stomach and his. Creating the friction my cock desperately needs.

“It says—” Snow gasps. And then he breaks off because I've started rolling my hips. I feel him clutch at my back, the spine of the book pressing into my skin. His whole body tenses. “ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers into my shoulder. “Baz. That’s it. That's it.”

And I know he doesn’t mean that he’s found anything. He means that I’ve got him in just the right place, at just the right angle, and he’s going to come on me.

“Fuck. That’s it,” Snow hisses and then he does.

He whimpers softly as I finish off against him. All the tension in him is gone now and he’s petting my hair with shaking fingers as I thrust my way to my own orgasm against his stomach. I come down from it with my nose buried in Snow’s collarbone, breathing him in. One of his hands is still in my hair, fisted in it, like he doesn’t want to let me go.

Crowley, I can’t believe I have to give this up. 

“I think we need another book,” Snow tells me. He must be reading over my shoulder while he’s calmer. I almost laugh (or sob). I let myself stroke the skin of his back. “All this says is that normal lust-suppression spells _aren’t_ powerful enough. That’s the opposite of helpful.”

I hear the book thump to the floor. He must have dropped it. (Even though the _desk_ is just behind us.)

But the fog in my brain is clearing again now I’ve come. As Snow speaks, I feel an idea – a real one – spark, and then catch.

“Maybe _not_.”

Snow leans back so he can look at me properly. “Huh?”

“Maybe,” I say, “no one’s ever had a powerful enough magician cast a lust-suppression spell.”

His forehead furrows. (I want to smooth it out. With my lips. But we're in the low part of the cycle, which means it isn't a good idea.)

“Is this about how I’m the Chosen One?”

I roll my eyes. “No. It’s about how _I_ am. What do you think?”

Snow huffs. "Fine. But I don't know any lust-suppression spells.”

“You do,” I tell him. “You said it yourself, earlier. **A long cold shower**.” It’s the spell the teachers use if they find students groping each other in abandoned classrooms. I know he knows it, because I'm sure it's been cast on Snow before, because I sent Miss Possibelf after him when I saw him sneaking off with Wellbelove towards the end of last year. In fact, that spell might be the reason he was still a virgin until this afternoon.

He shifts uncomfortably. Since he’s still in my lap, the movement rubs his cock against mine. (I inhale sharply, but don’t push him off.)

“Baz. I’m terrible at metaphors.”

“If it doesn’t work,” I point out, “the worst that will happen is that we get wet. _And_ we both get another top-up of magic to deal with while we think of something else. It won’t make much of a difference at this point.”

We’re sitting in front of Snow’s desk so I lean back to get his wand for him. He’s stuck it in a pot of pencils, because of course he has, and I can just about reach it.

As I push it into his hand, I remember the way Snow looked holding my wand earlier. I remember, for a moment, I actually thought he was going to try and _fellate_ the thing. Which would have been horrible.

And extremely dangerous.

And I would have hated myself later for not stopping him. Because that would be one more memory I’d never be able to get rid of.

Filed alongside the kiss Snow gave me just before he pushed his cock into me for the first time. And how hesitantly he asked me to fuck him. (I’ll be torturing myself with that one for years – it’s not something I’d ever imagined before. Even the Snow in my fantasies has been too straight to beg for sodomy.) And the way he looked up at me from the floor as I rode him. Like he’d never seen anything more wonderful in his life.

Fuck. I need to start moving on.

Because this was never _real_. And because, although my idea might not work, there’s a good chance it _will._ Snow is far, far more powerful than anyone the cretins who wrote this textbook had ever dreamt of. He almost brought me back by casting a fake spell without a wand in the Wood earlier. He can do this. And then, he’ll fight the manticores, defeat the Humdrum, and I’ll— I don’t know what I’ll do.

Carry on, I suppose. As I was. We both will.

I want to kiss him again – once more, before I’m not allowed to ever again – but I don’t want to distract him, so I don’t.

“Go on,” I tell him softly. “Do it.”

Simon doesn’t notice, but I realise as I say it that I’ve unconsciously used the same words I used earlier when I thought he was going to kill me. That’s what this feels like – encouraging my own death.

He’s looking down at his wand like he’s never seen it before and isn’t sure what to do with it.

I have no idea what he’s thinking. Surely he wants this to be over. He can’t be that upset about casting metaphors.

“ _Snow_ —” I prompt and he looks up and crashes his face forward into mine. I’m not sure what this is. If it’s goodbye kiss for him, too, or whether he _is_ distracted and I should push him away. I don’t. I hang on, pushing back into him. Kissing him with all the desperation I still feel.

Then I smell his magic rising around us. Thick. Smokey. And Snow pulls away.

 ** _“A long cold shower,”_** he says clearly and the smoke of Snow’s power seeps into my skin, suffocating. Dampening.

“Did it work?” Snow asks once it’s dispersed.

I have no idea. I still want to kiss him. I still want to make love to him; for him to make love to me. The pollen barely changed anything – for me. It just destroyed my self-control.

It’s possible I might feel more exhausted than before. As though the last hour of vigorously fucking Snow has finally caught up with me and now I’m done. But it's honestly difficult to be sure. 

“We might have to wait,” I say. “To see if it flares up.”

“Yeah,” Snow says. “Listen, Baz …”

I do. I’m trying not to hope that this is the part where he tells me how attracted he is to me. Because I know he won’t.

In fact, he doesn’t say anything. 

I raise an eyebrow. “What?”

Snow opens his mouth again – and then closes it. He still hasn’t moved. He’s still on my lap. (I could count all his freckles if he sat here long enough.) I should tell him to get off me, but I don’t want to tell him to get off me.

“I—” Snow says. “That is—” and then he ducks his head towards me, as though he’s going to kiss me, and I jerk back.

(What is this – a test? I’m not failing the fucking test already.)

“Crowley, _Snow_.”

He laughs breathlessly; I want to murder him.

“Seems like it’s worked.” His voice is too high. Too quick. As though the queer panic has finally set in. He scrambles off my lap (having presumably realised both of us are still entirely naked) and pulls a t-shirt from his wardrobe. “That’s good, then?”

“Yes,” I agree, hating him for making me say it. “Tip top.”

My dressing gown is hanging on the door of the bathroom. I grab it and pull it on, trying not to obviously watch as Snow collects boxers and tracksuit bottoms from the floor and finishes dressing. It might as well be fifth year, for fuck’s sake. He’s so close. So beautiful, and so close. And I can’t touch him. I’m not allowed to. Nothing’s changed.

Snow has to save the day; and I have to let him.

He pauses in the doorway just before he leaves, and looks back at me. Almost as if he’s going to say something.

I think he’s surprised that I’m not coming with him. (Which is ridiculous. I never come with him. I’m his enemy. Just because I helped him _once_ when I was severely personally inconvenienced, doesn’t mean I’m automatically a member of his gang.) (Even though I’d be fucking _incredible_ against the Humdrum, and he really _should_ ask.)

If he asked, I’d go with him. If he told me he wanted me with him, I’d go. I wouldn’t hesitate.

But I don’t think I can bear it if he _doesn’t_. If all he wants to say is that we’re still enemies and he’s still watching me, waiting for me to trip up.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I tell him – to put both out of our misery. I curl my lip. “Don’t forget your wand this time.”

Then I shut the door to the bathroom before he can answer. And think about drowning myself.

**SIMON**

I take the stairs, even though Baz was right earlier and it’s quicker to take the window. It gives me time to think before I throw myself into battle. (Not something I usually look for, but this has been a _very_ weird day.)

I still want to kiss Baz.

I don’t know if that’s because I always wanted to and didn’t realise it, or whether two hours of shagging has made me more aware of the possibilities of sharing a room with him. But I don’t think it matters.

The pollen’s definitely gone – which I can tell because I can think things like _I want to kiss Baz_ and not have to do it immediately. It’s gone. And I still want to kiss Baz. (So, that’s one thing settled – I _am_ gay. Or at least, gay enough to still want Baz’s tongue in my mouth, which is probably very gay, let's face it.) But I’m not at all sure that _Baz_ wants to kiss me.

I thought he might do. But then I tried and— 

He didn’t.

That was after I’d already tried asking him about it and failed because of the stupid oath we took when all this started. Everything I thought of would have set it off. _I really liked that – did you like it?,_ or _We should do it again some time, when our lives aren’t in danger,_ or even, _Hey Baz – so I know I didn’t realise how insanely hot you were before today, but seriously. Do you want to be my boyfriend?_

Eventually, I thought: _Sod that._ I’m shit with words, anyway. Baz will work out what I mean if I kiss him.

I shouldn’t be surprised that he pulled away. Just because I had a revelation today, doesn’t mean that he did.

I also shouldn’t be surprised that he didn't want to help me fight the manticores. They’re massive evil lion-beasts who _repel_ magic, probably one of the worst kinds of creature to send against magicians. I wouldn’t want to fight them either if I didn’t have to. Even if Baz and I aren’t enemies anymore (and I don’t even know if we _are_ still enemies), I don’t have any real reason to think he’d help.

A few smiles.

How he didn’t even argue once we got Penny’s note, even if he _did_ still make snarky comments about all my ideas.

Not much to build a case on. I had better evidence for him being a vampire. (Obviously he _is_ a vampire. So, I was right about that one. But still.) Penelope would say I’m jumping to conclusions. _“Just because you want something to be true doesn’t mean it is, Simon.”_

I did, though. Want it to be true. 

I really wanted him to like me.

Whatever. It's pointless thinking about it. I should have taken the window.

I draw the Sword of Mages as I reach the bottom of the stairs. The pledge now reminds me of how idiotic I was earlier – and Baz, sucking on my palm while I fucked him – but fortunately the sword still comes. It must know that whatever liberties I’ve taken recently, this time I mean business.

I run across the courtyard – it’s still empty – and try not to think about how Baz isn’t with me. (I’m not bitter; I’m just surprised he can _shower_ when monsters are literally attacking the school.)

That’s when I see them. Three giant beasts clinging to the roof of the Weeping Tower. Manticores.

(It's possible they were already here when Baz and I arrived outside Mummers House – I wouldn’t have noticed. And it would explain why no one was around.) 

Manticores are giant lions with human-like faces, tusks, horns and spikes. These ones are the kind that have wings. They’re a bit like the sphinx Penny and I met, except rather than ask you a riddle first they just skip straight to ripping your head off.

 _“If you see one, Simon,”_ the Mage told me once, _“you mustn’t hesitate. Just strike it down as fast as you can. If it stings you, you’ll be paralysed and eaten. A rather ignoble end for the Greatest Mage.”_

There’s a small cluster of people around the base of the tower. Mostly teachers (not the Mage – he’s away right now, and probably won’t be very pleased if he comes back to find I’ve exploded his office), but I can see Penny there, too, holding what looks like a pike. She waves it at me as I run over to her.

“Where’ve you been?”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t tell her, thanks the oath. I just ask her what’s been happening and what the plan is.

She reminds me that manticores repel magic _(“So you should cast physical objects against them”)_ and tells me that two of the teachers – Madam Bellamy and Professor Minos – have already climbed the tower. They’re trying to sneak up on the manticores, but they haven’t managed it yet. They also haven’t been stung, though. None of the manticores have attacked yet. But they _are_ laughing, which is weird. Manticores have been known to sing a bit before – and some of them can talk, though not usually the ones with wings – but they don’t usually laugh. And even if they did, they wouldn’t all laugh with the same little kid’s voice. It’s dead creepy.

“We think they’re waiting,” Penny says.

She doesn’t have to say for what because all three of the beasts choose that moment to swoop down on us.

Next to me, I hear Miss Possibelf shouting a spell that makes the ground shake, and Penny casting a shield charm – **“Angels and ministers of grace defend us!** ” – even though she _just_ told me we should cast physical objects. She must have panicked. But it’s probably fine. She’s got that pike.

Even if it isn’t, I don’t have time to think about that right now because one of the manticores is coming right at me. I can see its huge tusks and hear its weird, childlike laughter. And I know I’ve never seen a manticore before, but I don’t think their eyes are usually like this. Jet black. Like there’s nothing behind them.

I swing my sword as the beast drops. The blade slices through one of the manticore’s tusks, but it keeps coming. It’s got too much momentum. That’s good, though. I can use that.

I throw myself out of its way and roll. And then I’m up, swinging my sword again, this time at its neck. As the blade connects, I hear Penny shout my name. It doesn’t sound like the pike-magic shield combination is working out that well for her. I kick out at my manticore – it’s not dead, but it is stunned – and turn to help Penny.

But I’m too late. (I don’t mean _too late_ too late, she isn’t mauled to death or anything.) Someone else is already helping her. Someone else with long dark hair still wet from the shower. Someone else who probably doesn’t know how to use a sword much better than Penny knows how to use a pike, but somehow looks fucking incredible with one in his hand.

My heart feels like it’s stopped as Baz Pitch pushes my best friend out the way and drives his blade right into the manticore’s throat with what is _probably_ vampire super-strength.

Fuck _me._

It’s sexier than anything I’ve seen him do all day.

**BAZ**

I realised something as I stood in the shower, marinating in self-pity.

I realised that Snow didn’t have to ask me to go with him. I didn’t need his permission to fall in love with him, and I don’t need it now. So, what if he doesn’t love me back? I’m going to help him save my mother’s school from ugly flying cats if it kills me.

I couldn’t bear it if he died, and I could have saved him and didn’t – just because I was embarrassed, and Snow was too thick to realise he needed me.

When I arrive, he’s fighting one of the beasts single-handedly, while my football coach and some of the other teachers try and contain another. I want to stop and admire the way his shoulders flex, but Penelope Bunce is in a bad spot. And I have actually come to fight manticores, not just ogle Snow.

I’ve never used a sword before in my life, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Not if I only want to use this sword _once._ I just thrust it into the beast’s face as hard as I possibly can. And hope.

When it falls – when I’m sure it’s dead – I turn around and see Simon Snow, staring at me from across the courtyard. There’s _heat_ in his eyes.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think—

I don’t know what I’d think. That he hadn’t managed to spell the pollen out of himself, I suppose.

Fortunately, there’s no time to dwell on it because Snow’s manticore _isn’t_ dead. It rears up behind him on its hind legs and takes a swipe at him with one massive paw. Snow doesn’t hesitate. He throws himself to the floor and kicks out at it with enough force that it stumbles backwards and presumably decides to seek easier prey elsewhere.

I shield my eyes against the sun as it climbs into the sky, Snow in hot pursuit – rising through the air like the avenging angel he is, sword outstretched.

Whatever happens when he lands, I’m glad I was here. To see this.

Absolutely glorious.

**SIMON**

“Tell me if I’m going crazy,” Penelope says afterwards, “but did Baz Pitch just save my life?”

“Yeah. He did,” I say.

It comes out a bit dreamy (I’m still thinking about how fucking _fast_ he was – it’s making my knees weak) but I don’t think Penny notices.

We’re hanging around the bottom of the Weeping Tower while the teachers organise the clean-up. I always hate this bit of any Humdrum attack – it’s where I most feel like a spare part – and it’s worse today because I want to speak to Baz but he’s deep in conversation with Coach Mac. It seems rude to just barge over, but I’m itching to do it. I want to run over to him. Kiss him, maybe. Demand to know what he thinks he’s doing here – whether it means what I think it means (what I _hope_ it means). Or whether it’s just that there was less hot water than he thought and he had a short shower.

Fortunately, I don’t think I can leave Penelope right now, either. Not after she’s sensed a mystery. She’d never let me hear the end of it. 

“Why would he do it?” she presses. 

“Probably because it was the right thing to do,” I say and this time I can’t stop myself from grinning. I might not ever be able to stop.

It’s weird enough that this time Penny does notice. She frowns at me behind her witchy glasses. 

“You’re very happy today, Simon.”

I shrug carelessly. (I can see Penny doesn’t buy it.) “Yeah. Well, we won.”

“Are you sure it’s not something to do with _Agatha_?” Penny says knowingly.

It’s definitely _not_ to do with Agatha.

“Because I heard the spell you cast,” Penny says as I wrinkle my nose. “ **On love’s light wings**? You know you can only cast that spell if you’re head over heels for someone.”

I feel my mouth drop open. “What? Is that true?”

Penny huffs and reminds me we learned about this spell in fifth year Bard Studies. You have to feel like Romeo on the night he first sees Juliet, she says, and you have to know all about the way language changed around the sixteen century (which is bollocks, because I don’t; I just copied the way Baz said it). But I’ve basically stopped paying attention.

Baz has just broken away from the group of teachers. He’s striding off towards the Wavering Wood, probably to get his trousers and shoes back. I know I need to follow him. (Not to stop him getting his trousers – that’s probably fine.)

I make my excuses to Penny. She sighs, but she’s seen Baz leaving and she doesn’t try to stop me. Miss Possibelf, on the other hand, catches me and makes me promise to write a report for the Mage about the manticores. Even though I really don't want to, I tell her I will and then I start running. 

Baz’s legs are longer than mine. I don’t catch up to him until we’re quite deep into the Wood. He must hear me coming – or _smell_ me coming – because he turns. I can never sneak up on him.

“What, Snow?”

It’s quite like what happened earlier, just before the fechounds attacked. I’ve even still got my sword out, although I put it away when I realise.

Baz looks wary. (He looks gorgeous. He hasn’t bothered to put his uniform back on, he’s just in trousers and a shirt that’s open at the neck. His hair's drying in unpolished waves.)

“I just cast **On love’s light wings** ,” I tell him.

Baz scowls. “Well, I hope you and Wellbelove will be very happy together.”

“I wasn’t thinking about her.”

Both of his eyebrows rise, and then it’s like he remembers that he isn’t supposed to care and they come down again.

 _“And?”_ he says – as though it’s nothing fucking whatever to do with him.

I want to ask him who he was thinking about when _he_ was casting the spell earlier, but I can’t because of the oath. (And anyway, I think I already know). I want to punch him for making this so difficult.

But I definitely want to kiss him more, and so I do. Kiss him first, and hope he works it out. My plan from earlier.

It works even better than I expected. Baz makes a soft noise in my mouth, and his arms come up around my neck. Clutching me to him. I’ve got my hands on his face, his cheeks warming under my palms. And I’m kissing him and he’s kissing me, and neither of us are off our faces on pollen. It just feels so good.

When I try and pull him in closer by the waist he backs off, but not before I’ve felt how hard he is.

“If we have any choice about the matter, I’d prefer not to fuck in the Wood.”

I grin. “I know – no lubricant, no condoms. But I actually think we should go on a date first before we have any more sex. I really was just kissing you.”

Baz looks surprised at that, even though I think it’s quite a mature response. (That might be _why_ he’s surprised.)

“You want to _date_ me?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Only if you want to, though.”

Baz still seems confused and I think he’s about to give me a whole spiel about how I’m not gay, or he isn’t, and how we’re enemies and he’s a vampire and anyway, it was only the pollen that made us feel anything for each other. But instead he smiles, almost shyly.

“I’d like that.”

“Cool,” I say – and then I feel a bit like a berk. “I mean, I’d like that too.”

I lean towards him again, but Baz stops me. “I meant it about kissing the Wood," he says. "Also, I have to collect my shoes and trousers from where I foolishly abandoned them earlier.”

I guess the honeymoon period is over. 

“Right," I say. "Sorry about that.”

“Do you ... want to come with me?”

I look down and Baz is holding out a hand. I grin.

“Definitely the best Humdrum attack ever,” I tell him as I take it and we walk deeper into the Wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an epilogue. Please click into the next chapter.


	4. Epilogue

**BAZ**

Simon has been grumbling all the way up the stairs of our tower.

“When I said we should go on a date _before_ we had sex, this wasn’t what I imagined.”

I let him take me out to dinner tonight – even though I don’t eat in public. And even though Watford’s idea of a nice restaurant is a Bill’s. (It’s certainly Simon Snow’s idea of a nice restaurant. Horrific. But I was pleased enough to be out in public with him, as his boyfriend, that I didn’t bring it up.) (Not that often, anyway.)

He told me about how he’s been reading Shakespeare _. “Romeo and Juliet, actually”_ – and I kicked him under the table as he grinned at me. But it was actually a fairly decent conversation.

Then I asked him for an update on the work he’s been doing with Bunce tracking down the Seventh Oak for the Mage – they’ve been combing the Wavering Wood for weeks looking for it – and I told him what I’d found out today from my ex-botanist aunt. It’s not much. Fiona spent most of the time she was more interested in plants than vengeance in Beijing, but she told me she remembered a map of the Wood in my mother’s office that might be helpful. Snow got so excited he had to immediately borrow my phone to call Bunce. He actually left the restaurant and stood outside to make the call. When he returned it was with the news that he’d signed me up to help him break into the Mage’s office before class (the Mage is away – Snow’s sure he won’t mind but can’t ask him); followed by an evening of hiking through a forest with Bunce in search of a magic tree.

Delightful.

 _“I knew it’d be good to have your help with this,”_ he told me through the cheeseburger in his mouth. He swallowed. " _You know tonnes about Watford.”_

 _“Is that why you were tracking me through the Wood that day?”_ I asked. _“Because you thought I knew something about the Oaks?”_

Another grin from Snow. _“Pretty sure I just wanted to catch you sucking the blood out of squirrels.”_

One thing you can say about Bill’s is that it’s loud enough that no one else can overhear your conversation.

 _“You find that erotic, do you?”_ I asked him and had the pleasure of watching him almost choke on one of his fries.

It was nice – even though it was in a chain restaurant. A good date. Or it would have been under normal circumstances. But all the time we were out, both of us knew that every time Simon’s breath hitched when he moved, every time all of his muscles tensed, it was because he was wearing a plug in his arse. 

(I made him put it in himself this time. I don’t think I could have gone to dinner _first_ if I’d had to do it for him.)

We’ve been going out – if you can call it that (tonight is our first time _out_ , after all) – for almost three weeks now. Simon holds my hand during meals, and kisses me goodbye when we have to go to different lessons. In accordance with his (sensible if infuriating) suggestion that we wait before having sex again until we know there’s more to our relationship than just animal lust, we’ve slept in our own beds. Which has been fine. For me. I’m used to lying three feet away from the person I want most and just _sleeping._ It’s been harder for Snow, judging by all the tossing and turning I’ve witnessed. And the numerous cold showers.

But tonight was our first official date, marking the end to the period of abstinence. Now we’re only a few steps away from our room, and Simon’s complaining because he’s been so keyed up all night that he couldn’t enjoy the food.

“You didn’t miss anything,” I say, sneering - and he growls, and launches himself at me, kissing me as we crash through the door.

“You’re such a snob,” he tells me breathlessly as he pushes my jacket off my shoulders.

“You could have taken me somewhere else.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“You could have asked _me_ to take you somewhere else,” I concede, grinning as he bites my bottom lip.

“I don’t know why I like you.”

I don’t take it personally. He’s told me why he likes me often enough in the last three weeks. (Something to do with being gorgeous and talented and not as much of a dick as he’d always thought. He also loves my legs. The night of the match against Purcell last week was the worst for him, apparently. He spent most of the evening in the shower.)

When we’re both naked, I push him down onto his own bed and fumble my way through the business of putting on a condom.

I’m glad I was kind to Simon about this – well, as kind as I ever am – as it’s surprisingly difficult. My hands are shaking with a mixture of lust and the fear that I’ll fuck everything up and this will be terrible, and the damn condom is so slippery. Eventually I manage it and settle between Simon’s legs.

“I’ve been thinking about this every day for at least three weeks,” he tells me. “So, no pressure.”

Which of course helps me relax no end.

I tug the toy out of him (because I have to; definitely _not_ because I want revenge) and he sucks in a breath. “That felt much bigger on the way out.”

I see his eyes flick down to my cock – which is significantly bigger than the plug he’s been wearing all evening.

“We don’t have to do this,” I say quickly.

“No,” Snow says, just as quickly. “I want to.”

“Right,” I say, leaning over him – but now I’m so nervous, I’m worried I’m going to lose my erection. I’m not sure why we chose _this_ for our first entirely sober sexual experience, something mechanically difficult that neither of us are sure he’ll like. Just because it seemed fitting. (And Snow insisted, and I’m weak for him. But logically, _I_ should have insisted on a blowjob.)

“Baz?” Snow prompts, and I realise I haven’t moved for some time. I’m frozen above him. He raises a hand to my face; I lean into it. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “It’s just – this seemed a lot easier when I was high on fechound pollen.”

He laughs at that. “I know what you mean. I’m actually glad that’s how I lost my virginity.”

“You’re _glad_ you were forced into non-consensual sex with a vampire, as part of a supervillain’s plan to destroy magic?”

“Yes,” Simon says. “I mean, no – although the vampire part was pretty hot.” I roll my eyes. “But I didn’t have to think,” he says earnestly. “About whether I fancied you. Or you fancied me. Or whether I’d be any good. We just did it.”

He leans up and kisses me gently; I melt against him. And for a while we just kiss, Simon’s hands roaming up and down my back as I roll my hips against him. (I definitely haven’t lost my erection. Fortunately, nor has Simon and it feels wonderful.)

“This the part where you tell me that what we’re doing now is going to be infinitely better,” I remind him when we separate. 

“Yeah?” he says breathlessly. “Prove it then.”

I move back down his body and he spreads his legs wider, even though he doesn’t need to, there’s plenty of space. He’s just eager. Well, so am I.

I push a pillow underneath him and line myself up with his entrance – still swollen and sensitive from wearing the plug all evening – and push forward. Simon makes the same hiss as he did when I pulled the toy out of him, but he doesn’t tell me to stop, so I keep pushing until I’m all the way in. Bending him in half as I do it. (Crowley. It’s so fucking tight – I never imagined.)

“All right?” I ask and Simon nods. Like he doesn’t trust himself to speak. (I remember that. How my whole world seemed to contract down to the feeling of him inside me. Not dissimilar to what I feel now, if I’m completely honest.) His hands run up my back and into my hair.

I kiss him again before I start to move, fucking him with the kind of long, deep strokes I don’t let myself have when I do this to myself. The drag of my cock inside him is incredible. The grip of his flesh. The knowledge that I’m _inside_ Simon, that I’m making love to him. And he’s gasping – groaning, making these incredible sounds – each time I push back into him.

His eyes are shut and his grip on my hair is almost painful. But it’s good. I like that. I like the contrast and how much this is affecting him.

“With love’s light wings did I o'erperch these walls,” I croon into his mouth. “For stony limits cannot hold love out. And what love can do, that dares love attempt. Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.”

Simon’s laughing weakly. “I have no idea what my line is.”

I grin as I shunt my hips forward again. “Not important.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers because I'm speeding up now. Letting myself fuck him the way I want. Harder. Deeper. I'd like to take him in my hand, too, but I’m pressed against him and I love that – that there’s no gap between us.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ ” Simon whimpers. “ _Baz_ —”

I lean down and kiss him. It’s easier this way round, since I’m taller than he is. Simon clings onto my hair although his mouth is slack, like he can’t concentrate on kissing. He pulls away.

“Baz, I’m going to—”

“If you pull a sword on me _now—”_ I growl and he makes a choked sound, half laugh, half sob.

His hips spasm as he comes. A strong clutch around my cock that make me feel feral. I want to keep pounding into him until I tip over into my own orgasm, but I also want Simon to let me do this to him again and I know he must be sensitive. So I push myself up on my hands and pull out. Rip the condom off myself and jerk myself to completion over his body.

Simon watches me do it with lidded eyes, his chest heaving. When I’m done, he reaches up and pulls me down towards him. He kisses me weakly and I kiss him back. I feel exhausted, wrung out. Which I suppose I have been in the best possible way. The kisses Snow and I are trading now are soft, as though we have all the time in the world. 

“How was that?” I ask when he lets me go.

“Yeah. Pretty good,” Simon says – which completely ruins the mood. I make a face at him, which he ignores. He runs a hand down my side. “I’m not sure it’s better than you fucking yourself on me, though. Maybe we should try that as well, just to be sure.”

While I admit the idea has some appeal, without the pollen I doubt either of us can recover in time for a second-round tonight. I already feel like I’m about to pass out, and all I want to do is get cleaned up, curl myself around Simon, and fall asleep.

When I point this out to him, Simon’s face falls for a moment, and then he yawns – proving me right. He grins sheepishly as I spell us both clean.

“Fine. Tomorrow morning then.” 

“You forget, you’re stealing from the Mage tomorrow morning.”

He groans. I spell the lights off.

“Tomorrow evening then.”

“After we’ve finished trekking through the Wavering Wood with Bunce? Capital idea.”

I hear him huff in the darkness, but we both know it doesn’t matter. There’ll be other days. This is real. It’s not a mistake. He isn’t drugged or confused. He cast **On love’s light wings** for me, for fuck’s sake. He asked me to be his boyfriend. And now I am. Simon Snow’s boyfriend. In bed with Simon Snow, having just shagged most of the sense out of him.

I don’t think I could be more content with life right now, if I tried. And I'm certain Simon feels the same.

**SIMON**

Fuck the Wavering Wood, honestly.

I’m definitely taking it off my list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending of this fic is brought to you in defiance of [this recent viral tweet](https://twitter.com/i_am_mill_i_am/status/1286799809849032705) \- fuck that tweet! This is a great trope.
> 
> If you enjoyed this and you haven't read my vampire fic, [Sex and Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19791214/chapters/46854913), you would probably like it. They're quite similar. 
> 
> I also recommend @llamapyjamas's [The Truth About Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24777316/chapters/59913568), which isn't sex pollen, but uses a binding-together trope to similar effect. And it's good! 
> 
> Finally - please also consider my Wayward Son bodyswap [Greener Grass](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22777981/chapters/54429838), which I'm about to go back to now I've got this one out of my system. Chapter 3 is mostly done. It's not the same as this at all, but you might like it anyway. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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